


i don't have a choice (but i'd still choose you)

by chemicalpixie



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, F/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of miscarriage, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalpixie/pseuds/chemicalpixie
Summary: ““am i a good person?” she whispers softly. it is a question she has always asked herself, and she has slowly become less secure in her answer.he thinks for a moment. “no,” he says. “no, i don't think so. i don't think anyone is. i don't know if they can be. there are no good people in this world, effie, not anymore.””or; effie and haymitch, through the years.





	i don't have a choice (but i'd still choose you)

**Author's Note:**

> hey everybody! this is the updated version of a fic originally published in april of 2016 and entitled “i don't love you (but i always will)”. i updated this partly because i wanted it to be compliant with my ot3 fic and partly because the writing is so fucking old. so! i hope you all enjoy, and if you read / listened to the original fic, there's a few new scenes and songs for you to enjoy, so feel free to read / listen again. 
> 
> the recommended listening for this fic : http://8tracks.com/chemicalpixie/i-don-t-have-a-choice-but-i-d-still-choose-you
> 
> the title comes from “poison and wine” by the civil wars, and tbqh i listened to my own playlist on loop while writing this. please kudos and comment if you enjoy, it means a lot to me!

they had assigned her to twelve because she is dumb and ditsy and blonde. everyone in the capitol looked stupid but no one is actually supposed to be stupid (this is a lesson she’d learned the hard way, after years of taunts and jeers from her classmates. she isn’t smart, and she knows it).

they didn't think it would hurt her when her tributes died the first year, or the second year, or the third or even the fourth. most escorts had the sense to stop caring — most escorts had the good sense to stop caring after the first year their tributes came home in coffins, or the sense to never start caring about their tributes at all, but effie never had had much sense, as her mother had reminded her countless times, and so it did. she feels like she’s been kicked in the gut, hard, when she watches her first tribute, the thirteen-year-old lissy, strangled to death by the district five girl she’d built an alliance with while she slept and then sliced open to make her death seem like a mutt attack and when griffin, one of the tributes from her second year, a seventeen-year-old who effie’d thought had had half a chance had taken one of the notorious district two female tribute’s knives to the stomach and bled out all over the lush green arena (and she meets this tribute at her capital celebration when she wins, and effie feigns a smile and congratulates her, and tries to hide how much she _loathes_ her, this petite fifteen-year old who shouldn't have had a chance) and the third year when she knows, deep down in her gut, that both her tributes will die and their siblings still sob as they are taken away, and that year, in the arena, they’d drowned in what might as well have been a flood of their siblings’ tears, and the fourth year when both her tributes have been killed in the bloodbath and she tries not to think about their dead bodies every time she closes her eyes. 

by the fifth year, she stops caring. instead, she drowns herself in books of manners and the proper ways to eat and dress and speak. if she can’t do anything to save her tributes, she can at least make them seem respectable.

//

it is on her second week of being an escort that she meets haymitch abernathy. he stumbles into the train car drunk, calling her “sweetheart” and “darling”, liquor slurring his words the whole while. she recognizes him immediately because everyone does. he is the winner of the second quarter quell, the boy who used the forcefield to win. she remembers watching it, thirteen years old, sitting on the soft white carpet in the living room of her childhood apartment, and being amazed at how brave he was, to openly use something the capitol created against them. even then, she knew she would never be that brave. she’d told him that once, as they wasted away the hours on the long train back to district twelve, and he’d simply scoffed. “it wasn’t brave,” he’d said. “it was stupid.” (what she hadn’t told him was that she’d been disappointed he’d won. it was the first year her father would let her spend money on sponsor gifts in the games, and she’d spent her money buying one of district one tributes — the one who’d almost beaten him. her name was velvet, effie seemed to recall — water). 

“why didn't you come to the reaping?” she asks. she’d thought he was dead.

“it doesn’t matter if i came or not, they’re going to die anyway. the sooner you realize all the tributes from this district are all doomed the better off you'll be, sweetheart,” he says, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. she doesn’t think they are doomed, not yet. she thinks rooker, in particular, a miner already at sixteen, tall and strong, has a chance. but she doesn’t try to argue with him. 

“then why did you come now?” effie asks, curious. 

“they made me,” he says. “they threatened to bomb twelve into oblivion if i didn’t at least show up and pretend to do my part as a mentor, and even i’m not _that_ much of an asshole.” there. that was one thing they had in common. neither of them had chosen to be here.

“don’t you have any family?” she asks. it seems out of character for president snow to immediately threaten to bomb the district. from what little she’d heard, they’d threaten your family first. then friends. 

“nope,” he says, downing another shot of whiskey. “snow killed my mother and little brother and my girl after that stunt i pulled with the forcefield. my da died in a mining accident before i was old enough to read.”

“i’m sorry,” she says, and means it. 

“don’t be.” he downs another gulp of whiskey. “nobody pities a victor.”

//

on her seventh year of picking tributes, she picks a slip of paper, and on that paper is a name, as there always was, and the name belongs to a little girl who is named primrose everdeen. (she will look back and think, if only. if only she'd moved her hand a little to the left, or the right). at the time, she thinks it is a blessing that someone had volunteered. something interesting has finally happened, after seven years of being stuck in district twelve, after seven years of being passed up for promotions. someone has volunteered. she knows that while volunteers are practically guaranteed in the career districts, it is unheard of in the outer districts, so this would be sure to put district twelve on everyone’s radar. the last time anyone had paid this much attention to district twelve was when haymitch had used the forcefield to win the final confrontation of his games. 

the volunteer tribute’s name is katniss. she’s primrose's older sister, and has only volunteered to save her sister from certain death.

katniss, as effie learns quickly, is insubordinate, rude and disrespectful. is it any wonder peeta was her favorite? well, favorite as far as tributes go. it doesn’t matter anyway. they would both be dead in a matter of weeks. matter of one week, in fact, as twelve tributes tend to die in the bloodbath. it doesn’t matter that katniss had spunk and determination and could actually use a bow (a weapon that was likely to be in the arena); it doesn’t matter that peeta had soft eyes and a quiet strength. if there is anything effie has learned after seven years in district twelve, it is not to get her hopes up. she has before, she thinks, remembering griffin’s training score of nine, the dead set of his jaw before going into the arena. she’d thought then that he would make it, and — she shakes her head. it is better not to think about it, now. griffin is dead and gone, and soon, peeta and katniss would be too, and she would find herself, another year or two or three from now, trying not to think about them as a boy with the ghost of katniss’s determination or a girl with the ghost of peeta’s feather soft blonde hair is reaped. it really is just better not to think about it. 

//

somehow, they make it. they survive, both of them, by threatening suicide. it is a good thing, then, effie thinks, that district twelve doesn’t win the games more often — all of their victors have defied the capitol to win. even the first victor of district twelve (and the only one in the grave, though not for haymitch’s own lack of trying) had won by defying the capital. 

but it’s okay. for the first time in her life, effie has victors to be proud of.

//

she spends the weeks leading up to the victory tour in an excited frenzy. there is so much planning to do, and she has two victors to account for instead of just one, and each of them needed outfits, and speeches, and there’s haymitch to think about.

he’d insisted on coming along on the victory tour, because, as he had been telling absolutely everyone, (despite effie informing him that it was tradition for mentors to accompany victors on their victory tour), “i'm their mentor, and this might be the last time in my life that i get a victor to parade around.” personally, she thinks the real reason haymitch wants to come was because someone needs to keep katniss in line. though how much line he actually keeps katniss in, she’s unsure, because he spends most of his time drunk, which makes him only slightly less likely than katniss to do something stupid that would get them all killed.

one night during the victory tour, as effie boards the train that would take them to the next district (she’d already corralled katniss and peeta into their respective bedroom cars. you could never be too careful, this effie knows from personal experience, and she isn’t sure how much of their love story is a show — for that matter, she isn’t sure if katniss knows either). on the way to her own bedroom car, she sees haymitch, lying on a couch in the drinking car. she isn’t surprised to find him there. in fact, he spends most of his time there, so the only real surprise is finding him awake. by this time of the night, he’s usually drunk himself into a stupor.

“sweetheart,” he calls to her, the word slightly slurred.

“i'm not a sweetheart,” she replies primly, stepping over the smashed shards of a tulip glass that she presumed was an earlier casualty of the evening. 

“‘course you're not,” he says, with a bit of a laugh. “if you were a sweetheart, you wouldn't kill children for a living.”

“i don't kill children,” she says carefully. it is true, but only technically. 

“but you choose them. you pick their names out and you read them and you tell them that they're going to die. you're a death sentence.” 

“it's not like you help them any,” she snaps, sick of this bullshit cat-and-mouse game haymitch seems to be playing with her. she’d been in twelve seven years, and she doesn’t understand haymitch any better than she had when she’d met him her second week as escort. “you're supposed to be their mentor, and all you teach them is that the games will fuck you up more if you win than if you die.”

“that's my girl,” he says, smiling a little, his words still slurred. his smile isn’t a full smile, but there was something about it that made it seem more genuine than any of the ones she’d seen before. there’s a crinkle in the skin next to his eyes, maybe that’s it. her mother had always said the eyes were the windows to the soul, and sometimes, in the deep dark quiet of her own room at night, effie thinks that’s true. she has never been one to believe in things like that, but there is something different about haymitch’s eyes then that makes her wonder. 

“i'm not your girl,” she replies, annoyance softening. there is something open and vulnerable in his eyes she doesn’t think she has ever seen there before. 

“i know,” he says, but there is something in his tone that made him sound unsure. there is something in her own tone that had faltered, too. haymitch isn’t the only one unsure of where this was going, she realizes. 

“you're drunk,” she whispers, moving closer to him almost unconsciously, as though there is something pulling her towards him.

“no,” he says. “i'm more sober than i've ever been.” effie almost laughs at his blatant lie, but the air in the room makes her falter. there is a serious, heavy air in the room, almost as if there was something growing in between the two of them.

“would you kiss me?” she asks, impulsively. she says the words as she thinks them, not even considering what is coming out of her mouth. when she realizes what she has said, she almost wants to take it back, but there is too much truth, too much genuine want in her offer for her to take it back. 

“why?” he asks, almost teasingly. it is as though he knew why, but wants her to be sure that she knows why. 

she can’t voice the reasons. there are so many, so many things unspoken that she wants to voice suddenly, bubbling up from her memories, but she can’t find the words to say a single one. “because,” she says instead.

“is that even a reason?” he murmurs.

“no,” she says, and she feels like a giggling school girl again, flirting with older boys just to see what she can get them to do — except this was far more serious than that had ever been. there’s a heavy, somber feeling about the room. 

“give me one good reason i should kiss you,” he says, smirking at her. he’s playing with her, just like she’s playing with him. 

“give me one good reason why you shouldn't,” she retorts, smiling carefully back at him.  
he grins again, but this time, a full grin, a true smile (if effie thinks about it — and she tries hard not to think about it — that is the first genuine smile she’d ever seen him give anyone, besides a long time ago, to a girl who had been in his games with him. what had her name been? marilyn? effie supposes it doesn’t matter now).

“that's my girl.” he kisses her then, and he tastes of the glimmer of the champagne that they'd served at dinner, and there is a deeper underlying burn of his whiskey. she imagines she tastes like her perfume, a mix of lavender and hyacinths and roses. not white roses, like snow's. it is never white roses. there’s something almost sickening about white roses now, something deep in her that becomes sick and ill at the stench. she imagines most of panem feels that way. 

“haymitch,” she whispers softly against his mouth. 

“what?” he asks, breaking away from her. he is holding her gently, like she is something fragile, a glass doll like the ones she'd had as a child. she remembers those, suddenly, and then she remembers what had happened to them — her mother had smashed them in a rage as effie had sobbed, and she’d cut her hands on the broken glass as she tried desperately to put them back together again, but all she’d gotten for her efforts was bloody hands that hadn’t healed properly for weeks. she wonders if haymitch would break her. she hates herself for thinking it. she thinks she’d already broken herself enough, and one more break wouldn’t matter, and her mind flashes back to the time she’d first broken. there had been — there was the boy, and there was the blood pooling in her shower, and she was scream-crying in the shower, just her and her tears and her blood. she’d left something of herself there, that day. she shakes her head. she isn’t a glass doll, fragile and broken. she is a person. 

“am i a good person?” she whispers softly. it is a question she has always asked herself, and she has slowly become less secure in her answer. 

he thinks for a moment. “no,” he says. “no, i don't think so. i don't think anyone is. i don't know if they can be. there are no good people in this world, effie, not anymore.”

“oh,” she says, less of a word and more of a small sigh.

“do you think i'm a good person?” he asks, his tone almost comforting. his thumb strokes her cheek and she can feel his other arm around her waist. 

“not really?” she says, glancing downward. she doesn’t want him to hate her (and god knows she doesn’t know where that desire had come from; up until now it has been easy to pretend she doesn’t give a damn what haymitch thinks of her), but she doesn’t want to lie. “i mean, you’re a _nasty_ drunk and you killed that girl, even if you had to, and — ”

“see?” he smiles gently. “there you go.”

“will you hold me?” she asks, vulnerable and careful. she doesn’t think he will say no, but she isn’t quite used to this new haymitch yet. in a moment, he could turn back to the haymitch she’d thought she’d known, and that haymitch would turn her away and she would be left feeling stupid.

“isn't that what i'm doing?” he asks, smirking, and though his tone is sarcastic, there’s no malice behind it. 

“if i go to sleep, will you hold me?” she asks softly.

“of course,” he says, in a tone that implied there was no other option.

//

in the morning, she starts awake when peeta, the second of her victors, ventures into the room, his eyes bleary with sleep. 

“effie,” he says, surprised to see her. his sleep-blurred mind doesn’t yet seem to understand why she’s there, or that she is wearing the same clothing she'd worn yesterday, or even to have noticed that haymitch is sprawled out on the couch beside her, snoring. “you're up early.” he blinks, finally seeming to realize how strange this whole scenario is. 

“no, i, um - ” she stammers. “i actually fell asleep here and - ”

peeta knows she is lying. she had never been a convincing liar, even when she was a little girl. she’d gotten better with practice, but this early in the morning, she’s bound to come across as a little rusty. peeta smiles knowingly instead of commenting on her blatant lie, glancing instead at haymitch, who is still sprawled asleep on the couch, undisturbed by their conversation.

“can you not mention this?” effie asks softly, glancing down at haymitch’s sleeping figure. she picks at the polish on one of her fingernails. if they know about her and haymitch, they might hurt him to get to her. she won’t let that happen. he'd been hurt enough without being hurt for her.

“yeah, i - ” peeta murmurs. “i won't mention it.” and effie’s heart melts a little, and she bounds up and gives peeta a hug. he seems a bit uncomfortable with it all, and even though he’s stiff, he doesn’t pull away from her. as she’s leaving the car to change before katniss awoke for breakfast (that is the nice thing about katniss, she thinks. she always sleeps in) haymitch wakes, which she knows because he yawns overdramatically to get her attention. 

“yes?” she asks, turning around. she has to resist the urge to smile at him. she feels like a schoolgirl with a crush, with butterflies in her stomach and liquid in her limbs. 

“cheating on me already, sweetheart?” he asks, and she knows he’s talking about the hug with peeta, but his smile betrays the fact that he’s only teasing. 

she leans against the doorframe to take off her heels, and as she does so, she says softly, “of course not. he’s no you.”

haymitch laughs at that, a quick loud bark of a laugh. “damn right,” he says. 

she smiles as she turns and walks to her car, laughing as she adds, “he doesn’t drink whiskey before breakfast.” and as she leaves, she can hear his laugh.

//

the last night of all victory tours is the presidential mansion. it’s the easiest event to plan, the other escorts say, because there are no speeches to write. for effie, this means that there are no speeches for katniss and peeta to mess up. she introduces them and then wanders off, talking idly with her capitol friends. they’re so shallow, she muses to herself, as she half-listens, occasionally adding in a comment about the latest fashion trends in the capital or theories about what next year’s quarter quell’s theme will be.

she’s off getting herself another drink when she sees haymitch sitting in the corner of the party, a beer in his hand, his face dark, and, impulsively, she walks over to him.

“hey,” she says, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“hey yourself,” he replies, taking another swig of his beer. “nice night for a party.”

“and here i was thinking whiskey was your poison,” she says, and he laughs a little at that. 

“they already drank it all, the bastards,” he says. “hence the, you know,” he adds, waving his beer around a bit, part of it almost sloshing over the rim. she puts her hands on the glass and steadies it, her hands on his, and he smiles at her.

“thanks, sweetheart,” he says.

effie smiles. “it’s my job to keep you from getting beer all over that suit portia made you,” she says, and haymitch laughs again, louder this time. 

“oh, is it now?” he says, with a grin, and effie nods, before glancing up. she blinks for a moment, before realizing that her capital friends are watching her and tittering among themselves. she feels a quick burst of anger — why should they care who she’s talking to? how dare she, they must be thinking, fraternizing with a drunken bastard of a victor? if it had been finnick, or if it had been gloss, it would be okay, she thinks. but haymitch is nothing like that.

“haymitch,” she whispers. “we can't do this. not here. not now.” she doesn’t want to draw more attention to them. she can’t let anyone know. not like she has anyone at home to worry about, but she has the boy, the man now, she supposes, and she thinks they would kill him just to make a point, even though she hasn’t seen him in years. 

the grin slips off his face. “can't do what?” he whispers back angrily, standing up. “this?” he asks, pulling her in closer and kissing her deeply. she’s so startled that she hardly even thinks to protest, but she shoves him off after a long moment. he stumbles back, wiping her lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand. he staggers away after a long moment, a fire in his eyes, and effie wants to cry. she’d thought this night would go well simply because there was nothing for peeta or katniss to mess up — she’d forgotten that she and haymitch were perfectly good at messing things up on their own. 

“that bastard!” she snaps loudly, and means it. haymitch is going to get us both killed, she thinks, before walking back to her friends, who giggle with their manicured nails over their mouths.

“what was that?” they asked in a kind of horrifying unison, like some kind of multi-headed gluttonous beast. 

“nothing,” she lies sullenly. “he's just a drunken ass.” she hates lying. it leaves a sour taste in her mouth every time. but she has to. she doesn’t have any other choice.

//

“what the hell was that, effie?” haymitch demands as they're boarding the train back. katniss and peeta are still in earshot, so effie chooses her reply carefully. she doesn’t think they know about what happened at the party, and the less they know, the better. she’s never had children, but she somehow thinks they’re the closest she will ever come to having children, and she doesn’t want to put them in any danger they needn’t be in. 

“i could ask you the same question,” she responds, and with a quick glance at peeta, she mentally begs him to realize that he and katniss need to leave. she’s so focused on haymitch she doesn’t even care if they end up in separate rooms or not. thankfully, peeta understands, and drags katniss away, citing some excuse or another. “you know we can't do that, haymitch. don't you understand?” she begs, tears streaming down her cheeks. “they will do everything they can to rip happiness from us. if we do that in public, there will be no us, because you or i will be dead! you aren't a favorite, they could kill you in an instant and say you drank yourself to death and no one would care.” she scrubs the hot tears from her cheeks with her sleeve, and tries not to cry more. it doesn’t work, and she can feel the tears burning her eyes. she's sure her makeup looks a fright right now, but somehow she can't even find it in her to care. 

haymitch blinked frantically. “i didn't think,” he starts. “i didn't...it’s been so long, effie, since i had anyone...to care about.”

she places a hand on her shoulder gently. “i know,” she says. she lays her cheek against his shoulder and sniffles.

“don't cry,” he replies, swaying back and forth gently, and she almost feels like they're dancing for a moment, and loses herself in the fantasy of the two of them. she can feel his heartbeat and feel his voice resonate through his chest as he murmurs, “it'll be alright.”

//

after the victory tour, haymitch goes home. she doesn’t tell him, but she worries about him, and she thinks he worries about her. 

she goes to district twelve for every little thing, taking her chances to see him, to visit him, to hold him at night as he sobs with the nightmares and withdrawal and the fact that she isn’t always there. he hold her hair back as she vomits and doesn’t ask her why she throws up nearly every night (she wants to tell him, but she doesn’t. she can’t. not yet).

katniss, always the troublemaker of her two victors, complains. “i just don't see why you can't just call us.”

“i don't mind it,” peeta replies. “it just means that she cares.” he smiles again, softly, knowingly, and she smiles gratefully back. haymitch leans over and squeezes her knee, ever so gently. and for a while, she can forget that everything she'd ever known lies at the capitol and that all the people she'd ever loved lie here.

//

one of those nights, after the victory tour, effie gets up from bed when the moon is high, and she goes to the bathroom, only to find blood on her underwear. she knows what this is, it’s happened every month-or-so (give or take, she’s never been quite regular) until she turned twenty and got pills that made it stop. she must have forgotten to take them, she thinks, and she gets up to wash her hands and go back to bed when she sees the blood swirling with the water and she suddenly breaks out into harsh sobs. 

she leans her back against the wall and sinks down until her knees are tucked into her chest. she’s sitting like that, trying to be quiet so as not to wake haymitch when she hears a slight rap on the door. 

“you up?” he asks, through the door. effie opens the door and haymitch comes in, a comforting smile on his face. he crouches down in front of her. 

“i didn’t mean to wake you,” she says, and crumples back into sobs. 

his face twists with concern. “hey,” he says. “you didn’t. nightmares. are you okay?”

she looks up at him and sniffles. “yeah. fine,” she says, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“are you now?” he says, and she nods.

“yeah, it’s...it’s nothing.”

haymitch shifts and sits down in front of her. “talk to me,” he says, almost pleadingly. 

effie blinks. no one has ever tried this hard with her, has ever worried about her like this. “okay,” she says, and takes a deep breath. “when i was younger, i. there was a boy, and i - we messed up, i didn’t take my pills, but it was okay, because,” she pauses here to catch a breath; the words are spilling out of her mouth like water, “because he had a career. he was on his way to being a gamemaker, so he could support me, and - and the baby,” her voice breaks here, but she continues, “but then i - i miscarried, and i left him, and i broke his heart and i broke my heart and i messed up again, haymitch, i didn’t take my pills and i saw my monthly blood again in the water and it just - it was too much like the...” she trails off. she can’t bear to finish the sentence. haymitch puts her cheek in his hand. 

“hey,” he says. “it’s okay. come back to bed, you’ll feel better.”

effie sniffles again. “you just want to go back to sleep.”

he laughs, but it’s not genuine. “you caught me,” he whispers roughly. “come back to bed.”

he picks her up and carries her back to bed, before getting in bed himself. effie stares at the ceiling for a long while, and she thinks haymitch has fallen back asleep. she should let him sleep, she thinks. it’s so rare that he gets sleep without nightmares. she shifts again, and she hears haymitch mutter something in a half-asleep haze. “‘ffie?” he asks. 

“hmm?” she says. there’s a crack on the ceiling that looks like seneca’s beard. she blinks, and it disappears, turning instead into the wolf-mutts that almost killed katniss and peeta at the end of their games.

“i’ll never let you break my heart.” she smiles to herself and leans into him. there’s something warm in her chest that she hasn’t felt in a long while. 

//

she watches the announcement for the quarter quell with a mixture of eager and horror, and with a glass of wine in her hand. effie is acutely aware that whichever children she picks that year will be put through some additional horror that she cannot even begin to fathom. 

“and this year, in honor of the seventy-fifth quarter quell, the tributes will be chosen from the remaining pool of victors.” snow says, calmly, almost smiling, and it takes her a moment for the words to sink in, for the meaning to hit. she drops her wine glass, and it shatters on the ground, spilling red wine like blood on her white carpet. she screams, falling to the ground, sobbing. her tights turn red with blood and wine, but she can’t bring herself to care. haymitch will be in the arena again. and this time, he’ll be forced to face experienced tributes who knew what they were doing, some of whom who hasn’t spent the time before their games drinking with one foot in the grave. he'll be going through withdrawal, he'll be weak, he'll be in danger, he'll die. effie can no longer fathom a world without him, somehow.

she'd thought that they were safe. blinking back burning tears, she thinks that she should've known better.

//

she arrives a day before the reaping, and walks into haymitch’s house to find him sitting at his kitchen table, drunk. there’s a half-empty bottle of wine on the table, and effie finds herself a glass and sits. 

“hello, haymitch,” she says, and he starts. 

“‘ffie!” he says. “wasn’t expecting you...” he trails off, seemingly having forgotten he was in the middle of a sentence. he stares down at his glass and swirls the remaining wine around. “did i ever tell you what happened in my first games?” he asks. 

effie blanches. “haymitch, you don’t have to - ”

he interrupts her. “yes, i do,” he says. “i never wanted maysilee to win,” he says, and effie blinks. “i was hoping someone else would kill her so i wouldn’t have to do it myself.” he pauses, taking another sip of wine. “i was half in love with her, you know. and i’ll never know how much of that was the arena and how much of that was...us.” he stops here, and effie isn’t sure if he’s finished or not, so she doesn’t speak. “sometimes i think about what would have happened if we hadn’t been in the games. would we have gotten married and popped out little babies? would she have left her family for the seam or would i have been just some plaything to occupy her time?” he looks down at his glass again and begins to sob. effie can’t do anything besides put her arms around him and wait.

//

her heels are the only sound she hears as she walked onstage. she knows that every person out there, minus three, is thanking everything that they have that they aren’t in those big glass globes that hold the names. she is incredibly, painfully aware of how empty they are.

“ladies first,” she announces cheerfully, a fake smile plastered on her face. “the female tribute this year from district twelve will be - ” she pauses, for effect, despite knowing exactly who she’ll be sending into the arena this year, before pulling the lone slip out of the globe. 

“katniss everdeen.” katniss walks slowly up to the platform, her face drawn and hard. tears blur in effie’s eyes and her fake smile drops. she can only pretend for so long.

“and the male tribute this year from district twelve will be - ” she stops, both to make a show of shuffling the two names around and to pray to something, anything, that peeta's name was the name written on that slip and that haymitch doesn’t volunteer to take his place, even though they all know peeta wouldn't survive another games. peeta was fragile enough as it was, but effie is selfish that way. she can’t bear to lose haymitch, too, not with katniss and peeta gone and the loss of seneca still carving an echoing hole in her heart. and if katniss somehow makes it (she is young and she is fit and she could do it, maybe, something in the back of her mind whispers), she will still have gale and prim. katniss could survive without peeta. effie does not think she can survive without haymitch. she does not think she is weak; she knows haymitch would either drink himself to death or get himself killed by snow in a week if effie were to die. they need each other. 

she inhales softly, carefully, and unfolds the slip. “haymitch abernanthy,” she says, faux-cheerful, reading from the paper slip, and her voice breaks. her lip quivers a bit and she blinks back tears. there is silence as the audience waits with bated breath. haymitch doesn’t move for a long moment, but then he slowly stands and begins to make his way towards effie in the center of the state. from behind her, suddenly, she hears peeta's shout.

“i volunteer!” he screams, hoarsely, desperately, and effie lets out a breath that she didn't know she'd been holding.

//

on the train to the capitol, she runs towards him as soon as she sees him. “oh thank god,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“do you know how fucking stupid that kid is?” haymitch growls. “i should be going down into that arena. i should have taken his place. the suicide trick won't work again.”

“i know,” she replies. “but i couldn't watch you in that arena. i couldn't. it would kill you. they would kill you.”

“they killed me the day my name was pulled for the reaping,” he says softly.

“i know,” she murmurs. “i know.”

“i'm a shitty mentor. i won't be able to help peeta. katniss might hold her own, but peeta - ” he stops, and glances at her for a moment, meeting her eyes before looking away as though he’s scared to say what they both know. what hovers in the air between them. they both know peeta won’t make it through another games. it’s as simple as that. he’d barely survived the first one, and in these games, with killers (with careers, there is always the chance that they’d back out. hesitate. not so with victors. their chance for hesitation is long past).

“he's going to die,” she whispers, finishing the unsaid sentence that he’s left hanging in the air.

“i know,” he says, and they hold each other, because there is nothing else they can do.

//

on the night of the tribute parade, effie is lying on the couch in the apartment the four of them will share before katniss and peeta are sent into the arena. katniss storms in first, only stopping to glance at effie idly and remark, “i have seen johanna mason's boobs.”

“well, congratulations,” effie smiles brightly. she is glad katniss is finally finding her own. and, well. her feelings for peeta don’t matter so long as she can act. 

“no, not like that,” katniss snaps, though effie doesn’t think that by the look in her eyes that she’s that opposed to the idea. “she stripped for us in the elevator on the way back up here.”

“really?” effie asks, a little less brightly. she’s not worried, per se, but she is nervous. she can’t help it. the tabloids are filled with scandals of who is cheating on who this week, and she grew up reading them. they leave a nasty taste in her mouth now, but. but. she still can’t shake the image from her mind.

“yes really,” katniss replies, as though she cannot believe effie is asking her this despite what katniss has just told her, and then she storms off to her room. peeta comes in next, makes a cup of tea and retreats to his room with the excuse of “big day tomorrow”. effie isn’t sure if he’s really going to sleep or not, but she turns the television up just the same. might as well allow him a little privacy.

haymitch comes in last, almost fifteen minutes after peeta, smirking to himself.

“effie,” he says, sounding fairly cheerful, and her heart breaks.

she doesn’t meet him in the eyes as she asks, “how was johanna mason?” 

“woah, woah,” he replies, holding his hands out. “what have you heard? because all that happened was she stripped for us, and i didn't even ask her to.” there’s a look of surprise on his face as he says this, and effie believes him.

“katniss told me,” effie replies, looking at haymitch as he sits down and slides his arm around her.

“oh, well,” he shrugs. “that explains everything.” effie laughs a little at that.

“was she prettier than me?” effie asked. she knew it was the most shallow thing in the world to ask, but she couldn't help the creeping feeling of inadequacy lingering in her mind.

“course not,” haymitch says dismissively. “besides, i heard she’d be more likely to kiss you than me.” effie laughs again, before tilting her head up so her lips met with his.

“no one could ever compare to you,” he murmurs, when they break apart. his hands are tangled in her hair and their foreheads are touching.

“good,” she whispers, her mouth finding his again. “because how else am i supposed to keep you in line?”

“this does work pretty well,” haymitch replies, with a short bark of a laugh, and effie laughs too, and she can feel his laughter in her chest, and she feels guilty for laughing when peeta is going to die but she keeps laughing anyway, because what else can she do?

//

after the interviews, they walk into the room where katniss and peeta are waiting with their hands close. almost touching, almost holding onto each other for support. effie sees peeta’s fingers brush katniss’s, and katniss doesn’t pull away. this is progress, effie thinks, remembering the aftermath of last year’s interviews. she isn’t sure if it’s love or if katniss is getting better at faking it, but either way, it’s an improvement.

“the games are still on,” haymitch announces solemnly. they all look at each other and none of them quite know what to say. effie wants to tell them she’s sorry, but for what? she swallows the lump in her throat. 

“i have presents for the boys,” effie announces, holding out two boxes to haymitch and peeta. she’d gotten them finished just before the interviews.

“why?” katniss asked morosely; ever the downer. if effie is honest with herself, she thinks she quite likes that part of katniss, the cynical part. it gives them all some perspective, and quite honestly, she wouldn’t be katniss without it. 

“well, we are a team!” she announces, faux-cheerful. what she really wants to say she does not say, which is, _we are a family_. “and katniss has her pin and i have my hair and - and we have to match,” she explained. it means something to her. this was the closest to a family that effie has had in a very long time. she hands haymitch and peeta their boxes, and they open them.

“thanks, effie,” peeta says, already fastening his necklace around his neck. he leans in for a hug and effie obliges. katniss is talking to haymitch and when they finally leave, effie grabs onto haymitch's hand and won’t let go.

//

“effie,” he says to her, one night during the games when neither of them are sleeping because all they can think about is if katniss will make it home or not. there are separate rooms, but hers goes empty almost all of the time. the game apartments had never felt like home, and it almost never had been. but now it’s different. she has haymitch.

“yes?” she asks, snuggling closer to him. it's july, but everything is cold. it is always cold.

“there's a way that peeta and katniss could both make it,” he whispers.

“what is it?” she asks.

“it's thirteen,” he murmurs softly. “it wasn't destroyed. they want to rebel against snow, and they want the mockingjay. beetee, he's gonna break the arena, and they won't be ready and thirteen will take the victors, they'll take katniss and johanna and peeta and finnick and they'll take me too. and you, if you want.”

“how will he break the arena?” effie asks. as far as she knows, the arenas are impossible to break out of. 

“plutarch designed the arena with elements of previous games,” haymitch says. “the lightning tree from beetee’s original games is in there. the blood rain from gloss’s. each segment has an element from a past arena. beetee will use the lightning tree to destroy the arena. that’s all i know.” he presses a quick kiss to effie’s nose before asking again, “will you come?”

“i don't know,” she says, because it's the only thing that she can say. “this is all i’ve ever known. can i leave it all behind?” she asks, and her voice shakes a little.

“you won't be leaving it all behind,” he replies softly. “it'll be me and you and peeta and katniss. same as it's always been.” it hasn't always been this way, and they both know it, but it's nice to pretend.

“our own fucked up little family,” she whispers, stroking his face.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “our own fucked up little family.”

“okay,” she says softly. “i'll come.”

//

thirteen is different from everything from everything she’d ever known. it’s different from twelve, different from the capitol. everything is plain, plainer even than district twelve, and when they arrive, haymitch is whisked away on some important business and her wig and her clothes are taken and effie is left with nothing. all she ever had in the capitol was her beauty, and now that that has been taken, she’s nothing. haymitch barely has time to see her anymore and everything is mockingjay this, mockingjay that.

she learns a week after she arrives, when katniss and the rest of the rescued tributes return that they weren't able to save peeta and he is in the hands of the capitol now, being tortured. she wonders if she'd be in the same position if she'd stayed behind.

even so, she still can't remember why she came.

//

annie and finnick's wedding was the first time that she's seen haymitch for longer than passing moments in months. by the time he arrives, she's drunk several glasses of the champagne that they'd opened for the special occasion. he smiles at her, embracing her and then takes her by the shoulders gently.

“effie,” he says, sounding mildly surprised. “are you drunk?”

“i think so,” she replies, laughing a little. 

““how much have you had?” he asks, concern in his voice.

“a few glasses, i think. i'm not really sure,” she says, brow furrowed in confusion, before downing the last of her champagne in one gulp. it fizzes in her mouth and she remembers how much she’s missed this. 

he chuckles under his breath. “lightweight,” before adding, “let's get you back to your bunk.”

“no! i wanna dance,” effie says, grabbing his hand and dragging him on to the dance floor. haymitch laughs, but follows her nonetheless. they dance along to a sea shanty type song that effie doesn’t know the words to, but sings along to anyways. she’s dizzy after only the first song, and haymitch finds her collapsed on the floor near the edge of the dance floor. 

“let’s go back to your bunk,” he says. “if you’re going to be sick, i think finnick and annie would rather you not be sick here.”

“okay,” she says, slurring the word a bit, and haymitch picks her up, carrying her, bridal-style, back to her bunk. she fumbles with her key card for a minute before unlocking the room and letting them both it. not for the first time, she’s reminded of how plain district thirteen is. everything is grey or brown and effie just wants something colorful so she can feel something, anything, again.

haymitch helps her in the door and lays her down on her bed, before turning and beginning to leave. he’s just flicked the light off when effie finds words again.

“stay with me,” she calls softly. he turns, flicking the light back on.

“okay.” he walks back over to her and sits on the edge of her bed. effie curls her fingers into his, and with his other hand, haymitch begins tracing shapes on the side of her face with his thumb. 

there’s a long moment of silence, and then, haymitch says, “i'm sorry, sweetheart. i've been shitty lately; with katniss and peeta and everything, i haven't had much time. i know this has been hard on you. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.”

“it's okay,” she says, even though it isn’t, because what else can she say? she left everything behind for him, and now she’s the one being left behind. no one needs an escort in district thirteen, but they need a mentor. a victor. effie wishes, fiercely, in that moment, that she was something, anything, else. a stylist, a victor, a member of one of the districts.

“it will all be over soon,” he promises, looking her in the eyes. “don't worry.” she just looks at him, and then he adds, “effie, if we both make it out of this, we'll go home, and i swear to god, we'll get married.” haymitch does not specify where home is, but effie knows. they’ll go back to district twelve. it has always felt more at home than anything else.

“promise?” she asks, and he nods, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her lips. she doesn't tell him that if he dies, she will kill herself, because what else is here for her? she left her life — granted, her empty life — for him. why would she want to live in this world without him, where she's nothing? she thinks that her mother would be disappointed in her, killing herself over a boy, but she’s always disappointed her mother, so nothing has changed. 

tears began to make their way down her face. “sweetheart, just go to sleep,” he says. “you’ll feel better,” he pauses, and then adds, tone darkening, “and trust me, i’ve had enough drunken exploits to know.”

“will you be here when i wake up?” she asks softly. she’s suddenly afraid this meaningless grey room will suffocate her without him there.

“yes,” he promises. but when she opens her eyes in the morning, he is gone.

//

after they win, after everything, effie is flown into the capitol. except it isn’t the capitol anymore, because everything is different now. there are meetings and she helps katniss and haymitch prepare, and there is only an empty silence between her and haymitch now. much of this is her fault; she knows he’s tried to apologize for leaving, but she doesn’t want his apologies. she wants him to be there for her. she lets him back in, in the end, (it doesn’t take much time; she’s missed him more than words can say) and they spend nights curled up together.

after coin is killed, it is decided that katniss and haymitch will be going home to district twelve. effie has her makeup back, and she feels like herself again, and she wants to go with them, but they say that she is needed here.

she walks to the train station to say goodbye to them, and haymitch’s fingers are loosely intertwined with hers as they walk.

“don't be a stranger, effie,” he tells her, and she kisses him lightly, when katniss isn’t paying attention. not that they have to hide, not anymore, with the threat of snow gone. but katniss just isn’t paying attention, anyways, and effie wants to laugh. katniss has never been observant, and effie is pretty sure that she’ll walk in to their wedding one day and ask who the two of them are marrying. “goodbye,” he whispers, and she can’t say anything because she is afraid she'll burst into tears, so she stands there with a sad half-smile on her face. 

and then he is walking onto the train and she just stands there alone watching the person she loves most in this world walk away, and tears trickle down her cheeks. she’s trying her hardest to keep her composure, but it feels a little bit like her heart is shattering, so the tears fall regardless.

//

when peeta and gale go back to district twelve, so does effie. gale and peeta sit on the other side of the train car, hands entwined. neither of them are smiling, but they look content nonetheless. effie spends the train ride alternating between reading and sleeping, and after a long time, the train jerks to a halt, and effie can see peeta start awake. when they step off the train, katniss and haymitch are waiting for them. katniss runs to peeta and gale and pulls them both in for a hug, and effie drops her bags and runs to haymitch, who is holding flowers. 

“they’re for you,” he says, and effie takes the flowers and hugs him, and he spins her around, and she’s smiling so much that her face almost aches. as she wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him deeply, she can see peeta and katniss and gale in the distance, walking hand-in-hand home. 

“i missed you,” she says, when they’ve finally untangled themselves from each other. her face is red, and there is no taste of whiskey on his breath. she almost misses it. almost. their foreheads are touching, and haymitch smiles at her warmly. 

“i missed you too, sweetheart.”

//

they don’t get married right away. it takes a year, two, three, for all the planning and the decorating and effie hand-makes her dress (it’s not white, but a pale, pale pink, with a black veil, in honor of district twelve’s traditional black dress of the coal miner’s wives), and she thinks that sewing her own clothing is more satisfying than anything she did in the capital. she sews, now, for a living, and haymitch raises angry geese that nip at her ankles when she goes to hang up laundry in the yard but truthfully, she doesn’t much mind, even if she complains about them. 

haymitch still has nightmares, but effie does too, now (about district thirteen and the bombs, about blood swirling in the water, and about an endlessly grey world, and about a baby she can’t save) and they learn the best ways to comfort each other, and the nightmares slowly become less and less frequent, and for that, effie is glad.

the wedding is small, with her, and haymitch, who wears a black suit, and katniss, and gale, and peeta, and katniss’s mother, and annie, and her son, and johanna, and plutarch, who is still effie’s dear friend, and plutarch officiates. they both profess to love each other forever, in life and in death, and when haymitch pulls her veil back he looks so awestruck that effie starts to cry, and they kiss right there. the kiss tastes of the salt of effie’s tears, but for the first time her tears are from happiness, and it’s that moment that makes effie believe that they really did it, they really won, and this is the ending that they deserved.


End file.
